Stylings of the Heart
by Tikal Tyrant
Summary: A working anthology of Style one-shots with a variety of themes and perspectives. Some fresh doses for everyone's Stan/Kyle fix.
1. Possible in a Dream

A/N: This is a working collection of Style one-shots that come from simple ideas that don't quite warrant their own story. Basically this is to keep me from flooding my story list with short one-shots while still giving myself an outlet for these little pieces of mostly fluff. I don't know how often I'll update this or how many stories it will be comprised of, but I hope you'll all enjoy them. Here's story number one. :)

**Possible in a Dream**

Stan didn't recall his dreams very often, and when he did, it was usually because they were unsettling or depressing. Even then, they were usually not clear enough to reflect on even if he wanted to. So when he had this particular dream, this surprisingly optimistic and vivid dream, he couldn't get it out of his head. In fact, he was doing all that he could to keep from letting it slip away.

He remembered sitting in a room, small and warm with a low couch covered in soft carpeting that connected it seamlessly to the floor. From the floor, Kyle sat with his knee up, fingers linked around it as he looked up at Stan attentively. They chatted away in the middle of some conversation that didn't really have a start. They had been chatting for a while it seemed, God knows what about. Stan liked that aspect of their relationship. That they could be comfortable blabbing about anything.

And boy could Kyle blab. Stan was just glad that whatever he was blabbing about now, he was doing so with a smile rather than a scowl. After a bit, they slipped into silence. There were very few people who Stan genuinely felt comfortable sitting silently with, often finding himself sitting in irritation and wishing that the other person would go away. But Kyle was one of the few that he felt happy sitting silently with.

"I have to tell you something," Kyle said, almost in a whine but not quite.

Stan sat up. "Yeah dude, anything."

Kyle moved onto his knees, leaning forward and placing his hand on the couch by Stan's knee almost alluringly. He looked up at Stan with those green eyes slanted in apprehension. Finally he said, "I'm gay."

It was a blunt way of coming out, and needless to say, Stan was taken very much aback. "Really?" he sputtered, barely managing to catch himself before spouting out, "Me too!" After all, Kyle being gay didn't necessarily mean that he was gay for Stan. And simply saying, "Me too!" would be like saying, "You're gay. I'm gay. Might as well hook up." The matter was not so simple. Stan had kept his secret for so long that it would almost seem unfair to come out right after Kyle. And besides, Kyle might have more to say about his predicament. Maybe he already had feelings for somebody else and currently needed Stan to be his friend and listen. With possibilities rushing through Stan's mind, he wished that he had been the one to confess his sexuality and feelings for Kyle a long time ago so that at least Kyle would know that he was an option now. With anxiety, he listened for what Kyle would say next.

"Yeah. So what do you think about that?" Kyle asked, rocking back on his knees so that his fingers had to stretch out to stay on the couch.

Stan's heart sped up, those annoying butterflies dancing in his stomach. He had to proceed cautiously. "I mean, it's whatever. It's cool."

"Are you sure? Cause you seemed a little excited about it." There was something both teasing and hopeful in how Kyle said that. He brought his knees to the couch, laying in hands by Stan and resting his chin on them. He wiggled a bit as he spoke. "Cause at this point, I don't know what I'd do if you said you didn't want me."

It occurred to Stan that Kyle's confession was more specific than the words he used. "I do!" Stan exclaimed as if the door of opportunity were closing. "I do want you! I've wanted you for a long time."

Kyle smiled wide, letting out a deep sigh of relief, and Stan figured that it must have taken a lot of balls to say everything he was saying. After all, Stan never did. Kyle sat up and draped his arms over Stan's shoulders. "That makes me really happy," he said, moving his face closer to Stan's. The butterflies in Stan's stomach went crazy. He could feel Kyle's warmth on his cheeks now, Kyle's eyes fluttering closed as his lips parted ever so slightly. Just before their lips made contact, Stan's eyes snapped open, and he barely managed to scramble out of bed and hover over the trashcan, his vomit splashing down the side before he could fix his aim.

It had been a long time since Stan's stomach went queasy like that. He had hoped that he had grown out of such a childish reaction, but the way that the butterflies behaved when Kyle got a bit too close in the hallway continued to prove him wrong. He felt a bit guilty for the dream and for enjoying it, and the butterflies mocked him for it.

"Dude," Kyle said, "are you feeling okay? You don't look so good. You're pale."

"Yeah, my stomach's just a little upset," Stan replied, and when Kyle put his hand on his back and rubbed, Stan's gut lurched.

"Are you sure you're not sick? Your face is getting a little red. You don't have a fever, do you?" Kyle pressed his hand against Stan's cheek, and that was what did it. If he had checked his forehead, or at least used the back of his hand, maybe he'd be fine, but Stan almost immediately found himself barfing onto Kyle's arm and shoulder. Kyle gasped, shouting, "Sick, Stan!"

Stan didn't really mind sitting at home eating chicken noodle soup when he wasn't even really sick. Even though he wouldn't enjoy the makeup work the next day, he'd rather have Kyle believe that he was sick rather than know the truth behind his upheaval.

"You need to be home," Kyle stated firmly after changing into his gym shirt. "I don't want you getting _me_ sick."

Throwing up over such a simple dream was embarrassing. If it had been a wet dream, maybe he could forgive himself, but this one was so innocent. But it was nice, too. And Stan replayed it in his head again and again. He had been pretty calm in the dream, but he doubted he could be at all smooth had something like that happened in real life.

At that thought, Stan shook his head and laughed at himself. It was possible in a dream. What were the chances that it would work out in real life? Stan could sit around waiting for Kyle to confess his affections, but the dream was just that. A dream. Of course, Stan recognized what the better course of action would be. For him to make the confession himself. Of course, he had recognized long ago that he just didn't have the balls. Him confessing was a possibility that, even in a dream, seemed impossible. But that didn't stop him from smiling as he sat on the couch replaying that highly unrealistic conversation. How hard would it be just to say, "I'm gay"? And how hard would it be to say, "I'm gay for you"?


	2. Bed Mates

A/N: The first story was more from Stan's point of view, so here's one from Kyle's. What a couple of gaywads. In both this story and the previous one, their ages are pretty much ambiguous. But I'll probably do some with defined ages, too. Enjoy. And Merry Christmas!

**Bed Mates**

Kyle knew that he and Stan were an atypical pair of friends. He knew because of the shared silence between the two when the other boys tried explaining to the girls just how impossible it is for two males to share a bed. Very young boys sleeping beside one another was fine, but once a guy reaches a certain age, such an arrangement is supposed to feel awkward and uncomfortable. But neither Stan nor Kyle ever felt that they were suddenly too old to share a bed. Especially when both of their beds fit both of them so well. It was just an arrangement that had always been in place.

"Two guys sharing a bed together is totally gay."

Everybody seemed to agree with this sentiment. Kyle kept his mouth shut, too insecure to actually argue against it; and to his relief, Stan remained silent as well. The source of Kyle's insecurity, and the reason that he couldn't exactly argue against the other boys, was that after all those years of seemingly innocent bed sharing, Kyle was beginning to wonder if his classmates were right. Surely, he thought, two guys could sleep in the same bed without any homoerotic emotions wanted or otherwise. But while he couldn't speak for Stan, secretly Kyle knew that he was not the example for his belief. Because when the two of them slept back to back, Kyle had a habit of scooting close and pressing his back against Stan's. When Kyle's feet got cold, he'd tuck them under Stan's legs.

Kyle had to wonder, what were Stan's thoughts on these interactions? Because for him, there was definitely something sensual about them.

"Is something wrong?" Stan asked, sitting beside Kyle on the couch in the Marsh's living room.

"Huh? Oh, my head just hurts a little," Kyle replied. He hadn't even realized that he was rubbing his temple, but having just gotten over a cold, it was no surprise that his head was still sensitive.

"Geez Kyle. The temperature can't go up or down five degrees without you getting sick, can it?"

Kyle laughed. "It seems like it."

Without warning, Stan reached his hand toward Kyle's face. Expecting a punch or prod of some sort, Kyle smacked him away, holding his arms up defensively. "No, stop. I'm gonna do something," Stan said, reaching again and grabbing Kyle's hat. With some struggle, Stan managed to get the thing off of Kyle's head, and Kyle's stomach tingled as Stan moved closer and placed his fingers around Kyle's temples. Slowly, he began to move his fingers in little circles, massaging the spots gently. "Does that feel good?" Stan asked after a moment.

"Mm-Yeah." Kyle spoke quietly, staring at his knees. It did feel very nice, and he loved having Stan's hands on him. He couldn't help but feel guilty, however. Like so many things lately, Kyle was soaking in the guilty pleasure of the act's homoerotic nature whether Stan intended it that way or not. These little contacts had become like the bed sharing. To Kyle, they held romantic undertones. A sort of relationship-based privilege that gave him hope that they could be more than super best friends.

Stan slid his fingers up into Kyle's hair and rubbed his scalp with his fingertips. "What about that?" Stan asked in a low, breathy voice.

Kyle twitched. They way that Stan did this, always taking everything a step further, drove Kyle's sense of reality wild. It could mean that Stan found the contact just as meaningful. Or Kyle could easily be looking too deep into what was actually just normal buddy stuff, as so many pathetic saps with silly crushes tend to do. Kyle closed his eyes and let out a little moan, both relaxed and on edge about whether or not such a sound was "too gay."

That fear always lingered. "Would this be too gay?" "Was that too gay?" And especially after parting ways and reflecting on their time together: "Oh God, that was way too gay. There's no way he didn't think that was too gay."

So every time that they went to each other's houses, Kyle gave himself the same mental speech that he had done today. "Don't get so touchy this time, Kyle. I know you want to, but Stan's gonna start thinking your creepy or clingy. And it is creepy and clingy. You're gonna creep Stan out and ruin whatever you do have, so knock it off."

But here they were, Stan's hands hidden in Kyle's hair, his fingers scrubbing his sensitive scalp. Kyle never wanted it to end. He began to lean sideways toward Stan, and after a short-lived internal battle about whether or not he should keep leaning or sit back up, he quickly found himself with his head resting on Stan's thighs, moaning and whimpering as if to say, "Good God Stan, don't ever stop." So much for his mental speeches.

"Is that helping your headache?"

"Mm-hm."

Stan sifted a laugh through his teeth, making Kyle peek up at him with one eye. "What?"

"Your hair is like pubes," Stan said, completely ruining the moment.

Embarrassment shot through Kyle. He sat up and snatched his hat off the arm rest, cramming it back on his head. "Dammit. Dude, screw you."

"I bet your pubes look just like that, too. Bright red, curly pubes."

"If you wanna fantasize about my pubes so much, go right ahead," Kyle said. "You gaywad."

"I don't have to fantasize," Stan said, grabbing the waist of Kyle's pants and tugging. "I'd just yank your pants down. You couldn't stop me."

Kyle hooked his fingers in his belt loops and kicked Stan in the ribs. "Knock it off, asshole."

Laughing, Stan rubbed his side. "What the hell? I had you moaning in my lap a moment ago. Now you're kicking me? Talk about mood swings."

"I wasn't moaning!" Kyle exclaimed, face growing hot. He rose onto his knees. "But you will. In pain."

Kyle reached out and grasped Stan's face in his hand, squeezing hard. Stan laughed and grabbed Kyle's wrist, pulling him off and blocking his other hand before it could come down on him. Now he lay on his back, Kyle's wrist in one hand and the other palm against palm with Kyle's. Kyle put all of his weight into his hands, trying to force Stan's arms down, but Stan just laughed a strained, breathless laugh as his arms shivered from holding Kyle up.

Looking down to see that he had one leg between Stan's, Kyle brought his knee up and bopped Stan where it matters. Stan let out a puff of air and released his grip on Kyle's hands, slipping his other leg in so that Kyle was hovering, straddled over him as he soothed himself. "Hey that's dirty, butt-munch," Stan said.

"Well you know what they say," Kyle said, staring down at Stan, arms at his sides and triumph on his face. "All's fair in love and war."

Stan propped himself up on his elbows and smirked back at Kyle. "Oh. So there's love now, huh?"

"Of course," Kyle said. "I'd have to love you to put up with your pissyness."

"Excuse me, my pissyness?" Stan pulled himself up so that he was level with Kyle. "Look who's talking."

"Uh-oh, did I upset the baby? Come here, pissy." Kyle leaned forward and lifted his arms to wrap around Stan, but the way that Stan's eyes grew wide as he leaned away made Kyle freeze. Stan stared at him with pursed lips and something akin to worry in his eyes, it seemed. Kyle dropped his arms and backed off, staring at the TV as if he had any idea what was going on on it. He had done it again, he was sure. He was being way too touchy, and Stan was uncomfortable.

Quietly, the two watched TV on their separate sides of the couch. They were not completely silent, still making chit-chat here and there, but Kyle almost couldn't believe himself for how much he longed for that physical contact. It was almost agonizing, to the point that he could hardly focus on anything else. Why did Stan have to lean away, and why did he look so uneasy? Determined to expel any awkwardness between the two, Kyle knew that he needed to keep to himself for a while.

Stan slumped against the armrest, nestling his head into the crook of his elbow there. Kyle watched him wiggle into place out of the corner of his eye, but otherwise let him be. A moment later, Stan straightened himself out sideways, bringing his legs onto Kyle's lap. Something fluttered in Kyle's heart. The contact was back. Hesitantly, Kyle placed a hand on one of Stan's knees, slowly rubbing it up and down before falling into a rhythmic massage. His heart raced the more he put into it, but to his amazement, Stan never protested. In fact, he let out a little moan of his own, and Kyle stopped breathing for a moment.

Slowly, Kyle moved his hand up, trailing his nails up Stan's back and down again. He went back and forth between scratching and rubbing as Stan fell into deep, relaxed breaths. Turning his head just a bit made his bangs fall into his eyes, and Kyle reached up and brushed them away.

"You need a haircut." He began petting Stan's dark hair back. "Your hair's not like pubes at all. Lucky."

"I like your hair."

"Really?" Kyle asked skeptically. "Why? It's so stupid."

Stan shrugged. "It's fun."

"We sound like girls, don't we? Talking about hair."

"Probably. Or huge gaywads."

Kyle bit his lip. Stan pretty much confirmed his fear.

"But," Stan continued, "I don't really give two shits. Do you?"

Kyle stared at Stan, but Stan just rested there against the armrest with his eyes closed. Kyle wanted to keep this interaction up forever. "I guess not."

That night, the two nestled into Stan's bed. The lights were off, and the two lay side by side staring at the ceiling as they talked. Finally, Stan yawned and said goodnight, turning away from Kyle to fall asleep. Stan must have been quite tired, because Kyle found himself listening to his slumbering breaths long before he even felt the first twinge of drowsiness. Probably because he was still riding the high of the day. What Stan had said that day made him think that maybe acting different than their classmates wasn't such a bad thing. And maybe it was possible that Stan did share some of those same romantic feelings toward him. After all, when nearly half of their hangout time consisted of practically cuddling, there seemed to be a pretty good chance of reciprocated feelings.

Kyle turned to Stan, staring at his back in the dark, quiet room where the only sounds came from Stan's slumbering breaths. He knew that the possibility remained that Stan didn't feel for him the same way. There was still the possibility that Kyle's emotions were hindering his ability to view their relationship objectively. But he figured that if Stan really didn't like the physical contact, the bed sharing, the massages, the hugs, he'd eventually tell him to stop. But until then, Kyle figured it'd be okay. So he scooted close, really close, and trying not to wake Stan, draped his arm over him, holding himself close to the other boy and breathing him in as he closed his eyes for the night.


	3. Handwriting

A/N: The boys are in high school in this one.

**Handwriting**

The first time Kyle left the anonymous message, it was because he was built up with frustration that he didn't have the courage to tell Stan how he felt. To release a bit of that pressure, he waited for Stan to leave his desk to turn in a paper. Quickly, Kyle folded the corner of Stan's notebook back and jotted down a small "I love you" on one of the early pages. Just the fact that Stan was walking around with his anonymous confession in his biology notes made Kyle happy, and he was excited for the day when Stan would find it and wonder who his admirer was. But that day seemed to be taking too long (which for Kyle meant three days). Kyle figured it was probably because he had left the message so early in the notebook that Stan didn't need to check it when studying the new material. The next day, when biology rolled around, Kyle again waited for Stan to leave his desk, this time to use the trashcan. He had to be fast but needed to leave the message where Stan was more likely to find it, so he flipped to the third page back and again scribbled the quick, "I love you."

Then Stan went to the bathroom, and seizing the opportunity, Kyle opened Stan's backpack and scribbled the message in his more recent algebra notes. It was a class that they didn't have together (Kyle being in a higher level), so it seemed like a decent way to cover his tracks because Stan would hopefully assume that it was someone in his algebra class. Or maybe Kyle just wanted to write it again. He thought about writing something different or longer, but not wanting to take the chance of giving his handwriting away, he settled on the simple "I love you" again. He expected Stan to bring up the notes to the guys any day now, but for three more days, he never said a word. And to be honest, Kyle was getting irritated.

"I am not looking forward to this algebra test," Stan said at the lunch table. "It's like, I feel like I know how to do the stuff, but I always get it wrong."

"Have you studied much?" Kyle asked. More than being concerned for his friend's grades, he wanted to find out if Stan had seen the message.

"I guess I should," Stan said. "I've barely looked at my notes."

"Duh! How the hell do you expect to get any better if you don't read your notes."

Stan leaned away. "Okay I get it. I'm gonna look over my notes tonight, Kyle. Gawl."

Kyle cleared his throat. "Yeah. Good idea. Y'know... I could always tutor you."

"No that's okay."

Kyle felt a little offended. "Why not? I'm really good at math."

"I know. That's why I don't want you to tutor me. I'm really bad at it. It's embarrassiiing."

Kyle thought it was a little cute how Stan turned into a child sometimes when he stubbornly refused something. He smiled at the way Stan held onto the table as he rocked his chair back and forth with his last word. Normally Kyle would be more adamant about tutoring Stan. In fact, he really liked tutoring him because it gave them a chance to hang out, and to be honest he thoroughly enjoyed the feeling of superiority it gave him. He didn't think anything bad about Stan at all.

He knew that if he tutored him this time however, he'd be tempted to point out the message in Stan's notes. He would want to say a subtle, "Hey what's this?" that of course wouldn't be subtle at all. No, best to let him find it on his own.

"I'll send you some links that might help," Kyle said.

"Thanks dude."

In the end, Stan didn't feel any better about his test. "I shoulda just let you tutor me," Stan groaned, hanging his head as they walked home.

"Well maybe next time you'll listen to me the first time I offer," Kyle replied smugly.

"...You should have insisted."

"You always get mad at me when I do. And then you fight me the entire time I'm trying to tutor you."

"Well... I've come to expect it. You threw me off my game."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "You can't blame me for your problems."

It was at the end of the next day when Stan ran to Kyle at his locker as he was packing up to leave.

"Dude, we have a history test tomorrow!" he exclaimed.

"...Yeah, I know," Kyle replied. "She reminded us in first period, too."

"Then why didn't you tell me? I just found out!"

"Dammit Stan, I thought I told you that you can't blame me for your problems."

"Can I please borrow your notes? I can copy them and return them before tonight."

"What's wrong with your notes?"

Stan stuck his hands in his jacket pockets. "I've not been keeping up very well. But I promise I won't make a habit of this. Next time I'll pay more attention."

Kyle sighed. He didn't really mind as long as it was Stan, but he liked to pretend he did. "Fine. But I'm coming over so I can make sure I get them back," he said, pulling his history notebook from his locker and handing it lazily over his shoulder to Stan.

Stan beamed. "Thanks dude!" he said, taking the notebook and opening it up. Skimming the page, his smile fell. "Hey Kyle?"

"Hm?" Kyle said, kneeling on the floor so that he could shove his books into his backpack.

"Do you know you write your O's wrong?"

Kyle shot his head up. "What?"

"Yeah, look." Stan turned the notebook around. "You're supposed to close them at the top. Not the bottom."

Kyle stood and heaved his backpack onto his shoulders, staring at the pages. He had never thought about it before, but after looking he realized that he indeed did close his O's on the bottom. "That's not wrong," he argued. "It doesn't matter where you close the O. It looks the same."

"No dude. You're supposed to close them on top."

"Where do you get that idea? I bet just as many people close them on bottom as on top."

Stan shook his head. "I dunno. I distinctly remember being taught to close O's on top."

Kyle grumbled, and looking around, called out, "Hey Clyde."

Clyde stopped walking and turned to Kyle. "Yeah?"

"Do you close your O's on the top or bottom?" Kyle asked.

Clyde stared blankly for a second, then held out his palm and drew a circle in it. "...Top?"

"Told you," Stan said.

"What does that mean?"

"That you do it the right way."

Kyle grunted. "No."

"Okay fine," Stan said, grabbing Kyle's shoulder and leading him down the hall. "Hey Token, you're smart."

Token turned from his locker. "Um... I dunno. I guess."

"How do you..."

"Wait," Kyle interrupted, taking his history notebook from Stan's hand and slapping it against the lockers. He pulled the wooden pencil from the spiral. "Here. Write... your name. In print."

"Okay," Token said, a little confused. He took the pencil from Kyle's hand and wrote his name on the top margin above the notes.

"Ha," Stan spat. "He closes it on top, too."

"Close on top?"

"Your O," Kyle explained. "You close the O on top."

"Well, yeah. I've always closed them on top. It just seems more natural that way."

"See?" Stan said with triumph. "Same with cursive, too. It connects at the top."

"But... But starting at the bottom keeps it on the line. It's more logical."

"What are you fags talking about?" Cartman asked, walking in on the conversation.

"Cartman!" Kyle exclaimed, taking the notebook and pencil from Token and shoving them at Cartman. "Do us a favor. Write Token's name."

"Why?"

"Just do it. We're testing something."

Cartman looked between the three boys, then stepped up to the locker and held the notebook against it, covering it from the others' view as he wrote. "There," he said, slapping the notebook against Kyle's chest. He held it out for Stan and Token to see where he wrote, "Token is a fucking loser who sucks cocks." Cartman's handwriting was as crude as his language, but each O started and ended at the top. Kyle growled.

"So four out of five people here close their O's at the top. But that doesn't mean that you can't close them at the bottom."

Stan pulled the notebook from Kyle's hands and held it in front of him with his palms underneath. Kyle looked up to see Stan with a much more serious expression on his face. "Write," he began, "I love you."

Suddenly Kyle felt as though he had been jerked by the gut deep down under water so that his head spun and his ear drums felt so much pressure that they could have popped. Two O's. Written three times. That's six instances of a dead giveaway that Kyle just had to leave behind in his selfish desire to play with his fantasies. Peeking up at Stan (which took quite the effort), he could see the hint of blush on his cheeks which must have been nothing compared to the blazing heat that flooded Kyle's face.

Cartman cackled loudly. "You want him to write what? Why?"

"Shut up Cartman!" Kyle snapped. Then grumpily to Stan, he said, "Why can't I just write Token's name?" He felt pretty sly for his feigned ignorance, but Stan wasn't having it.

"Just write 'I love you.'"

Kyle looked from Stan to the notebook, and with a shaking hand, Kyle lifted the pencil to it. "O...kay," he said, slowly writing out that same phrase he had before. "There," he said sheepishly. He looked at Stan, who looked back unamused.

"Can you... Write it again with your right hand?"

With near robotic movement, Kyle switched hands, picked the notebook up, and turned to the lockers. He wanted to slam his head through them, but instead held the notebook against the hard surface and held the pencil against it. He had to decide what to do quickly. "Face it," he thought to himself. "You already gave yourself away with that left hand crap. Just... close your O's at the top. No wait. He already knows you don't do that. Disguising my handwriting would take too much thought. What the hell am I doing? Just do something! I know. I'll break the lead!"

Kyle held the pencil close to the eraser and pressed it down hard against the top of the page. He pushed, but his hand had become so sweaty that it was sliding down the pencil. He tightened his grip until the corners of the wood hurt his fingers, but his hand still slid down. Now he was leaving a dark, powdery dot on the paper, but nothing was breaking and he was feeling stupid. Trying to change his angle, the pencil slipped down, tearing a large chunk out of the corner of the paper and leaving a mark like a gash down the one behind it.

"God dammit!" Kyle yelled, dropping the pencil (tip intact) to the floor and throwing his notebook at Stan. Stan scrambled to catch it, but it fell to the floor as well. "Thanks a lot, Stan! This was retarded! I can't write vertically anyhow! Just copy my notes and bring them back to me. Tape that page back together and erase Token's name off of it before people start thinking I'm gay for him."

With that, Kyle gripped the straps of his backpack and marched off down the hall. Slowly, Stan knelt down and picked the notebook up.

"Damn dude," Cartman said. "Kyle really needs to do something about his PMS."

At home, Stan sat at his computer desk with Kyle's notebook opened before him, the damaged page now taped carefully back together, though still difficult to read. From his backpack, he pulled out his algebra notebook and flipped it open so that he could read, "I love you." Then he pulled out his biology notebook and found the last "I love you" in it. He skimmed Kyle's notes, looking at the many close-bottomed O's that matched the ones in the little messages. He saw many of the same curve-bottomed Y's as well. And the V's that were written just a bit too tightly so that they could almost look like r's.

Stan rubbed his chin, and he smiled. He felt a flutter in his stomach. The instant he first saw the message, he thought it looked like Kyle's handwriting. He picked up his pencil, placing his hand at the top of the page where eraser marks streaked across, and in them he wrote, "I love you too." Then with a grin, he drew an arrow and added, "These are how O's are supposed to be written."


End file.
